


A Pirate Head and a Pirate Heart

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Blood, Interspecies Sex, Mermaids, Minor Character Death, Multi, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5902396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treachery leaves Dean stranded on a desolate island, but those who would betray him will soon learn you never cross a Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pirate Head and a Pirate Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to halfthetroubleisbelieving for the beta. You da best, Jay. And super thank you to the artist, sketchydean for your enthusiasm about this story. :3 Masterpost for the art is [here](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/post/138695087976/art-for-the-spn-reversebang-that-inspired-an).
> 
> Do be warned there is a singular use of a homophobic slur early on in the story, but that is the only instance.

 Wiping his blade clean on the dead man’s shirt, Dean uses his foot to shove the body over the edge of the ship and relishes a little in the sound of the splash as it hit the water. Some of the crew had chosen to surrender; they were smarter than the rest who had chosen to fight and die. More splashes sound from around the ship as more dead are unceremoniously tossed overboard, and Dean looks around expectantly. Sure enough, Sam comes forward, dragging the struggling, cursing captain along with him. He shoves the man to the deck, sending him sprawling in the mess of water and blood swirled along the wood.

 

Dean watches as the captain tries to shove himself to his feet, scrabbling at his belt for the pistol there, but it only takes a swift kick to send the piece skittering across the deck.

 

“Surrender, like what’s left of your men. Those who do’ll be the only ones left alive.” There’s a moment where it looks like the captain might give in, and a split second later he’s lunging at Dean. The pirate gracefully sidesteps the attack, and strikes out with his cutlass as soon as the man turns. Red cascades down from the gash in the man’s throat, and he’s still gurgling when Dean shoves him in the chest hard enough to send him toppling over the edge.

 

“Anyone else?” Dean spreads his arm wide, inviting any brave or stupid enough to attack. The remaining crew visibly wilt at the death of their captain, only a few faint grumbles emerging from the throng, but Dean doesn’t pinpoint anyone in particular. “Good. Ash?”

 

Ash makes his way toward the front, face grim and he leans in close to whisper to Dean as the rest of the crew and captives look on. Dean’s face goes dark and with a slight gesture, the crew finishes off the last of the captives. The rest of Dean’s men go below deck, unchaining the slaves there and quietly dispatching those too ill to survive the rest of the trip. Any survivors would be dropped at the next shore, with money and clothing from Dean’s own share.

 

“Ash, divvy up the rest. You know who gets what shares.” No one questions the order, just readies the captured ship to sail, the crew splitting themselves between the trade ship and _The Impala._ The take is good, even if half the cargo is alive. There are plenty of goods from England that will go for good prices here in the Caribbean, food and drink to stock _The Impala_ for a while, and the ship itself will likely make a handsome trade.

 

“Dean,” Sam says softly, reaching out to grip his brother’s arm in an attempt to soothe the boiling anger he knows is hidden under the cold facade, but Dean jerks away, heading back to his ship. They pick their course back up, heading for one of their favored ports to cash in their loot and get the slaves ashore; their lives won’t be much to boast about if they choose to stay in a pirate town, but it’ll be better than whatever was waiting for them in America. Some will take up the pirate life; others will try to earn their passage back to Africa.

 

Dean doesn’t speak much to Sam, even when they’re stealing a quiet moment alone together, tangled up in the sheets of Dean’s quarters. Sam knows how much Dean hates slavers, the fury that overtakes him every time a ship they take has human cargo.

 

“Monsters, Sam,” he’d gritted once, the blood of a dead man still splattered across his face. “Only monsters think they can own another person.”

 

Some thought it made Dean weak; others shared his sentiment wholeheartedly. The latter were always taking freed slaves on with their crew. Oftentimes, the former tried to challenge Dean for his place. None had won yet.

 

Sam holds Dean close, stroking his brother’s back as though his hands could soften the frayed edges of Dean’s mind. Dean acknowledges the touch with a soft kiss to Sam’s throat, pressing close to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The crew seem happy enough when they set sail after hitting port. Maybe that’s why this has come as such a surprise. Dragged from their beds in the middle of the night, somewhere in the middle of the fucking Caribbean, and trussed up like pigs for slaughter. Sam and Dean fight like wild things, the older brother cursing every crewman as they drag the two of them apart. Sam gets bound to the main mast, his yelling ignored as the men bundle Dean toward the edge of the ship and the waiting plank jutting from her side.

 

“You sorry sons a bitches, I’ll fucking gut every last -” Dean’s cursing gets cut off by a solid fist to the stomach. Sam’s heart sinks when he realizes just who delivered the blow. “Azazel,” Dean manages to grit. “You sorry piece of trash, shoulda left you for de-”

 

Azazel takes his time, landing blow after blow on Dean until the captain goes silent. He’s glaring still, despite the bruising already swelling on his face and the blood running from his mouth and nose.

 

“You’ve led this crew astray, Winchester. You and your sodomite brother. You are weak, soft, and a fucking faggot to boot. None of us are going to follow you for one more voyage.” Azazel’s voice is cutting, full of scorn and disgust. Several of the men cheer, but Sam can see a few more that look more nervous than anything. Meg - one of the only women on board - steps forward and he can’t help but yell in outrage as she yanks the amulet from around Dean’s neck - the amulet Sam had given him long ago, when they first took to the sea.

 

“You’re no longer fit to be called captain. Any last words?”

 

“Damn right,” Dean snarls. “I’ll find you. Every last one.”

 

Sam screams in fury when Dean’s forced down the plank, a shot ringing out to ensure that he jumps rather than take the bullet.

 

* * *

  

Sam’s yell is the last thing he hears. The fall is both fast and in slow motion before water closes over his head. Dean holds his breath, kicking futilely to try to push himself to the surface, but the weight of his wet clothing drags him down, bound arms doing nothing to help keep him afloat. His lungs burn, vision flickering and all he can think before water rushes into his lungs is _I’m sorry, Sammy._

 

* * *

 

 

Heat is the first thing that registers. Scorching heat on his face and neck, the grit of sand at his back. Dean shifts with a groan, coughing up foul sea water and rolling on his side to retch it out onto the sand. His throat is raw, chest aching. It takes a few moments to register that his hands have been untied and he’s very much not dead.

 

The sand beneath him is white, sparkling in the mid-morning sun. There are slight groves where Dean was obviously dragged out of the water - but by who? There are no footprints that he can see, no other people in sight. Not much else in sight, honestly, aside from the line of trees behind him and the long stretch of blue in front.

 

“Might as well have marooned me,” he grumbles, shoving himself up to shaky feet. He stumbles down to the water’s edge, gazing out over the ocean even though the chance of him being able to see anything is bleak. Truly, the sea is empty aside from the glint of sunshine on waves - and the bright flash of tail of a sea creature. Dean assumes it to be a fish, a large one; but the glimpses keep getting closer until Dean’s forced to rub his eyes, willing away what must be his imagination.

 

Brown hair breaks the water a ways out from shore, the tanned skin of a muscled torso shining with damp as rivulets of water trickle down the creature’s face and throat. It watches Dean from a distance, bobbing in the waves. Slowly, it approaches, until Dean can see its scaled tail gleaming in the shallows.

 

“Sweet mother,” Dean breathes. He’d heard tale, any seaman worth his salt has. Stories of mermaids who’d dragged sailors to their doom, who’d granted boons and stolen hearts. The creature stops a few feet from Dean and that’s when Dean realizes it’s carrying a line of rope, fish tied by their tails to the line. With a swift movement, the creature tosses his load towards Dean, who barely manages to catch it. The creature is gone when he looks up. If not for the fish in his hands, he would assume he really had dreamed it.

 

Making his way back up the beach, Dean gathers wood and kindling, rigging up the tools to ignite a spark. The fish won’t taste nearly as good with their innards intact, but the smell of them cooking is enough to shove any trepidation down. Dean watches around him, knowing that his fire and food could easily attract enemies or predators, but none are forthcoming. He tears into crisped flesh, eating ravenously until he’s left sucking at bones.

 

Leaving the fire to burn, stacking more wood to keep it burning he ventures a short way into the woods. Food is good, but water is going to be necessary first and he knows of many who were desperate or foolish enough to drink seawater, only to waste away. He checks over his shoulder now and again, marking the distance and direction of the smoke from his fire.

 

Dean walks for a while, building up a sweat in the humid underbrush. His shirt soaks through with sweat, clinging to his skin and he’s tempted to tear it off it not for the sharp blades and biting thorns of the foliage around him. It only provides a slight protection, but he figures it’s better than nothing. There is a creek, a tiny little thing that Dean would’ve missed if he hadn’t stepped right in it. It widens as he follows it back toward the source until it’s deep enough to drink from. The water is cool and clear, refreshing and Dean wishes he had a vessel to carry some back in.

 

He has to stay near the beach though; any passing ship could be an opportunity for escape  . . . and honestly he’s curious about the mermaid - merman? - that had fed him. It hits Dean then that the merman was probably what had brought him ashore and had untied his hands. The question is, why?

 

 _Of course, he coulda let you drown, dumbass,_ Dean thinks to himself, drinking down more water as he crouches by the side of the stream.He feels a little sloshy, but anything beats dehydration. He marks a few trees along the way back, scraping off bark in hopes of being able to find his way back more quickly next time. There are some fruit he recognizes now that he’s paying attention, and he gathers what he can carry to take back to shore. They’ll help with the dehydration and with the faint taste of fish innards still clinging to his teeth.

 

Part of Dean recognizes that he should be looking for shelter, and he eyes a few high  trees he thinks he could rig himself to and the odd rock formation that might provide shelter, but he’s driven to get back to the beach. Of course, there’s no sign of his mysterious rescuer - hell, there’s no way to know the merman will ever come back - so Dean reclines himself in the shade, eating fruit and staring out at the ocean until his eyes can’t see for the sparkles left by the water and sun.

 

Sleep pulls him under at some point, exhaustion from the heat and near-drowning combining with a full belly to cause him to nod off against the tree. He wakes to someone shaking him, and nearly clocks the man in front of him. Dean’s ready to fight, but the man leaning over him looks more concerned than anything. He looks around, sees no ship in sight, then turns his gaze back to the stranger.

 

Dark hair, blue eyes and shit. “You have legs,” he says dumbly.

 

“For a brief time, yes,” the man confirms, words sounding stiff in his mouth. “You should not sleep here there are -”

 

“Why are you helping me?” Dean demands suddenly, brain finally catching up.

 

“You were drowning. Now, you are sleeping in an exposed area. You should find shelter.” The merman is frowning, brow wrinkled and Dean’s not equipped to deal with this. The merman’s already making his way back toward the water, the scales scattered over his legs and torso gleaming in the moonlight. “Wait!”

 

Curiously, the creature turns back, tilting his head and blinking at Dean.  
  


“Can - If you’re helping me, can you get me out of here? Back to the mainland?” It’s a longshot, a weak hope relying on a being that should only exist in children’s stories. Dean’s not surprised when the creature doesn’t answer right away, then offers a slow shake of its head.

 

“We do not go near the mainland.” That’s all he says before continuing his trek out into the water, disappearing into the waves.

 

Dean sighs, slumping back against the tree he’d been sleeping against. It could very well be weeks before another ship passes by, and he’s got no way of knowing if it will be friend or foe who does; hell, the way his luck is going, it will be the Royal Navy and he’ll end up hanged. Without knowing if Sam’s alive - and fuck does that hurt to even think - there’s no one who’d be coming back for him. Only his brother and lover would be so desperate as to look for a dead man.

 

“Just don’t be dead, Sammy. I’m getting out of here, one way or another.”

 

* * *

 

 

The days pass long and hot, Dean roaming every inch of the island he can get to, prowling like a caged animal. He starts to gather wood and vine, wondering if he can use the logs and tough fiber to build a raft. It’s a fool’s desperation, but better to start now rather than when his hope has run out. The island itself truly isn’t that large, which explains the lack of big animals. There are tiny monkey like creatures, birds, and tons of insects, as well as small furred things that run about in the bushes. They taste close enough to rabbit when Dean manages to skewer one with a spear that he hunts them when he can.

 

The merman returns nearly every day, bearing fish. Dean manages to get a name out of him after a week. “Castiel? What kind of name is Castiel?” Not for the first time, the merman looks offended, but doesn’t get a chance to speak before Dean dubs him ‘Cas.’

 

Dean doesn’t miss the way Cas looks at him. There’s more to his story than just wanting to save someone he could tell was a good man - some kind of weird merman magic - but Dean doesn’t call him on it. He fears the creature leaving if he does, and Dean needs the information Cas has been gradually providing him about the surrounding area. Mainland is far, but there’s an inhabited island much closer; Dean thinks he would have a decent chance of finding a ship or even just finding out about his brother if he could make it that far.

 

Cas drags in a keg of rum a couple of weeks later, washed up from some shipwreck. He’s never had any, but is aware how much sailors like to drink Dean cracks it open, fashions them cups out of coconut shells and gets them both smashingly drunk. Of course, Cas seems unable to hold his liquor at all, and Dean cuts him off after a few shells full, making him drink water instead. They end up with Cas sprawled on Dean, gingerly stroking his cock as Dean guides his hand, Cas’ blue eyes glowing eerily in the moonlight. He licks Dean’s come up after, expression curious, and Dean has to coax Cas into shifting to his human form so he can return the favor when he realizes Cas has never had sex that way.

 

Sure, the next day he feel guilty as sin for having touched someone besides Sam, but months have passed already and sex does wonders for his spirits. Dean’s already started in on rigging together some kind of raft, laying out logs that weren’t too rotted and lashing them together with vines. Cas eyes it with suspicion and worry, but he helps during the brief bits of time he can spend out of the water. He starts looking a little ill after too many days in a row, though, and Dean shoos him off to watch from the shallows until some of the color comes back into his scales.

 

“Do you have a family, Cas?” Dean asks out of the blue one day, wondering just how much time Cas spends on his own when he’s not with Dean.

 

The merman looks surprised, but answers without hesitation. “I do. But my kind are not typically found in shoals. We drift together now and again since we inhabit a similar area, but we do not live in the same quarters as your families seem to.”

 

“So you have uh. A house then?”

 

Cas gives one of those deep laughs that Dean’s come to love, even when they’re at his expense. “I have a small set of caves I call home, yes.”

 

Dean just nods in acknowledgement, curiosity satisfied, and their camaraderie doesn’t seem to suffer for it.

 

* * *

 

 

Just when Dean’s nearly finished with his raft, a storm comes tearing through. Cas appears for a short time, yelling at Dean to wake him and telling him to find shelter away from the shore; the little shanty he’d cobbled together isn’t going to survive what’s coming.

 

Further into the trees, Dean takes cover in a cave that he’d found a couple weeks back, pulling limbs over the entrance and scooting as far back as he can. He gets wet as rain trickles in, but he manages to keep a fire going to stay warm. Devastation  is the order of the morning once the storm clears, and there isn’t a scrap of Dean’s raft to be found.

 

He screams. Flat out yells in anger and frustration and despair until his voice cracks, leaving his throat raw. Strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, but as much as Dean has come to care for Cas, all the touch does is make him miss Sam.

 

“Cas please,” he rasps. “You have  to help me I can’t- I can’t say here I need to get back to my brother, Cas-”

 

Cas cuts off his ranting with a kiss, holding and stroking him until some of Dean’s rage and desperation have eased. “I will try. I will visit the others, find out what my brethren can offer. I . . . may not return for a few days if I go.”

 

Dean kisses Cas goodbye, begging him silently to come back even as he watches the merman disappear into the water.

 

* * *

 

 

Days turn into weeks turn into nearly a month. Cas is gone, Dean is sure. Never coming back for a man he owed no loyalty to anyway. At least, that’s what Dean tells himself to soothe the ache in his chest. He still doesn’t know what’s become of Sam and his ship, doesn’t know if he ever will. He’s maudlin, staring out at the water much like he did his very first day on the island.

 

And, as on the first day, he’s certain his eyes are playing tricks on him when a dark shape takes form out in the distance.

 

The closer it gets the more Dean’s sure he can’t be imagining it. There’s a boat, nothing more than a tiny little rowboat that looks completely empty. He’s waist deep in water before he knows it, helping Cas and another merperson pull the thing to shore. With a flash of red, the other disappears into the shallows the minute the boat touches land.

 

“I apologize for Anna, she is not used hum-mph.” Cas doesn’t get the chance to finish his apology, mouth covered by Dean’s.

 

“Thank you. Fuck, Cas, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean works like a madman, gathering as much supplies as he thinks the boat can handle while trying to ensure that he won’t die of dehydration. Cas has volunteered to come with him to the border of his family’s territory, but no further; any closer to the mainland is asking for trouble. Storing drinkable water is the hardest part; coconuts take up a lot of space and spill easily. Dean ends up fashioning bags out of the innards of fish and making corks to plug the coconuts.

 

He’s fairly trembling by the time he’s ready to set sail, and he starts out just at sunrise. Cas swims alongside as he rows, and occasionally shifting to clamber into the boat and taking a turn. The merman has more stamina, but the amount of time he can be out of the water dwindles as the day wears on.

 

Four days in and Dean is running out of water. Rowing this kind of distance is exhausting, even more so in the heat. He drinks in tiny sips, enough to wet his mouth, but it only stretches the water so far. He runs out after a week, and three days later he’s so delirious that he’s slumped over inside the boat. Cas has tried to get him to drink the salt water, but they both know it will only make Dean’s situation worse.

 

“Sammy woulda had a better plan,” Dean mumbles to himself, to Cas, to no one. “‘It only takes three days to start dying of thirst, Dean,’ he woulda said. ‘Gotta make sure you’re prepared.’ Prolly woulda told me about all kinds of plants I could a brought, keep from dying like a dumbass-”

 

“Not sure much could save your dumb ass.”

 

Dean rolls his head over to the other side, squinting in the bright sunlight. “Fuckin’ hallucinations. Fuck you.”

 

“Maybe later. Come on, before you actually fucking die.” Dean grumbles the entire time he’s being manhandled into the other boat, passing out before his foggy brain can make sense of the familiar face and long brown hair.

 

No one notices the flash of scales not far from the boat.

 

* * *

 

 

“It was a hallucination, Dean!” Sam insists. “You always said people who saw sea monsters were lunatics. All that time alone, scavenging for food and water -”

 

“He was real, Sammy.” Dean says it as calmly as he can, pacing along the deck of _The Charger_. “He was real, he helped me, he’s the only fucking reason I even made it as far as I did.”

 

With a sigh, Sam gazes out over the water, face more haggard than it’s been in years. “Even if he was real, it’s not like a merman could sail with us.”

 

That finally takes the wind out of Dean’s sails. He slumps, biting his lip. “I know. I just . . . It doesn’t feel right leaving him behind, you know? I don’t even know if he’s okay.”

 

Sam pulls him into his arms, kissing him gently. Dean sighs into it, giving himself over to his brother’s affection; as much as he liked Cas, as much as he enjoyed what they did, not having Sam around was like missing a limb. He’d come clean the very first night he’d been well enough to have sex, dodging Sam’s kiss and confessing to his transgressions. Of course, Sam still wasn’t entirely convinced that Cas was real, so perhaps that explains Sam’s leniency so far.

 

As if reading his mind, Sam breaks their kiss and rests their foreheads together. “Did...you really fuck a mermaid?”

 

“Well, merman but ah. Yeah.” It sounds silly saying it out loud, and Sam’s laugh doesn’t help.

 

“Only you, big brother.”

 

There’s a wolf whistle behind them, and Dean turns just enough to see Ash grinning at them from the upper deck. He flips the man off readily, laughing.

 

“Good to have y’back, Cap’n.”

 

“Damn good to be back. Now, I think there’s a little hell to pay. How far out are we?”

 

“Day or two, dependin’ on the winds.”

 

With a nod at Ash, Dean drags Sam into their new quarters, slamming the door behind them with a very obvious bang. His hands go directly to Sam’s pants, stripping his brother out of his loose shirt and shoving him toward the bed. Dean drops his own clothes to the floor as he follows Sam across the floor and they tumble down onto the sheets together.

 

“Missed you,” Sam whispers, pressing more kisses to Dean’s mouth.

 

“Missed you, too.” There’s a new scar along the base of Sam’s throat, another along his cheek, and Dean runs the tip of his finger gently along them. “What are these?”

 

“Azazel, he -”

 

Dean growls, cutting Sam off. “Traitor. I’ll gut him just for fucking touching you.”  

 

Sam sees the manic gleam in Dean’s eye and tugs him into a kiss, rocking his hips up to brush his hard cock along his brother’s belly. “Later. For now, I want you.”

 

There’s a tiny flask of oil beneath the pillow and Dean grins at Sam’s preparedness. Sam’s tight, tighter than he usually is after going without for so long but he opens eagerly with Dean’s fingers inside him. Sliding into Sam is like coming home, and Dean grunts as his little brother drags blunt nails down his back. He pounds Sam hard, relishing in every yelp and gasp he can drag from Sam’s mouth, nipping at his neck, sucking bruises over the scar there.

 

Sam  comes on a jagged cry, going so tight Dean can barely roll his hips, but the painpleasure drives him over, too. They’re left shaking in each other's’ arms, Dean kissing Sam gently when sliding his cock out makes Sam whimper.

 

“I thought you were dead,” Sam finally murmurs, holding Dean close. “I thought you drowned, right there, Dean, and I couldn’t even save you.”

 

“You did save me, Sam. You saved me, and now you’re gonna help me get back my ship. And, together, we’re going to tear apart Azazel and Meg.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ash’s prediction proves accurate, and _The Charger_ is sailing over dark waters toward a cluster of lights. There are only a few ships here since this port is smaller than the rest, more out of the way than the ones Dean had preferred. The outline of _The Impala_ is evident though; she’s the largest ship at dock and even at a distance Dean recognizes her. Behind them, the crew wait silently. Ash and Sam had pulled together every pirate that had ever called the brothers their allies, forming a rag-tag crew of some of the most skilled and seasoned pirates on the sea.

 

They board quickly, rushing the drunken and sleeping pirates on _The Impala._ Most are killed on the spot, but many are still ashore, trickling in as they hear the shouts coming from their fellow crewmen. It doesn’t take the Winchesters and their men long to overpower the remaining crew and Dean waits patiently at the helm of his ship. Azazel and Meg get shoved to the deck in front of him, bound hand at foot. Though bloody and beaten, both glare at him with the same malice they’d shown the day they’d mutinied.

 

“I should carve you up slow to make you pay for what you’ve done.” Dean’s voice is low but it carries over the silence of the crew and the soft lapping of the waves. “I should truss you up and leave you for the sun and the gulls to take care of. But I’m not going to do that.”

 

Reaching down, he yanks his amulet from Meg’s neck, dropping the dark cord over his head and delighting in the familiar weight settling against his chest.

 

“No. Instead, I think I will offer you the very same fate you offered me; only I don’t think the sea will be so kind to a couple of traitors as she was to me.”

 

Benny and Gadreel yank the bound pirates up and throw them overboard. Not a man makes a move to save them and not a soul in earshot objects.

 

“Never cross a Winchester.”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes a great deal of time for Dean to find his way back to the island that he’d been stranded on. Between delusions and not knowing how far he drifted before Sam found him, they wound up exploring quite a few of the islands along the way.

 

There are scraps of his lean-to still on the beach, his carved x’s on the trees, but no sign of Cas. The crew wander through the forest, collecting vegetation to supplement what they have on board; fresh water is taken from the little creek Dean had found, but when night starts to fall the crew make their way back to _The Impala._ Only Sam and Dean remain on the beach, side by side near the small fire Dean had built.

 

Sam watches his brother get more agitated as the night wears on, and eventually convinces him to go to bed. It doesn’t help, though. Dean tosses and turns, finally swearing in frustration around dawn and leaving Sam alone in their bed as he heads out onto the deck. Sam wakes a while later to yelling, and when he manages to get his boots on to dash out of their quarters, he finds a great number of the crew leaning over the edge of the ship.

 

“In all my days, I never thought . . .” Ash murmurs, staring down at the beach below.

 

Dean’s in the shallows, a tall, dark-haired man in his arms. As though he can feel the weight of Sam’s gaze, Dean looks up and Sam swears he can see his brother’s blush from here. Dean waves him down, so Sam scrambles down the ladder and rows himself in.

 

“Sam, this is Cas, Cas this is Sammy,” Dean says, looking a little awkward and definitely pink-cheeked. Sam’s own blush rises when he registers that Cas is naked, skin bare save for the decorative scales scattered across it.

 

Cas extends a hand stiffly that Sam shakes readily, and the merman relaxes a little at the returned gesture.

 

“Thank you. For saving Dean.”

 

“It was my pleasure,” Cas says, immediately blushing when he realizes the implications of his words and Dean coughs in embarrassment.

 

Making a snap decision, Sam laughs softly and offers a tentative smile. “So I heard. What Dean didn’t share was whether you were like this or if you-”

 

Dean’s eyes go wide, and his head swivels so he can stare at the merman. “Can - are you - I mean-”

 

Cas bursts out laughing and Sam joins in. It takes a moment for the merman to catch his breath. “Yes, I have a penis in my other form. It is . . . rather unusual so I thought it best to stay in a form you were comfortable with.”

 

The trio make their way to shore, cooking the fish Cas had brought with them and catching each other up on the happenings of their lives since Dean and Cas had last seen each other.

 

“I thought I was a goner man. Then you weren’t there and suddenly I was back with Sam.” Dean frowns a little at the fish in his hands, rolling the stick it’s spitted on between his fingers.

 

“I fled when I realized the ship was headed for you,” Cas admits softly. “I watched to make sure they took you, and when I saw who it was  . . . I recognized Sam from your description. I knew you were safe. I did not think I would see you again.”

 

“I couldn’t just leave it at that Cas. I had to come back.”

 

“I wish I could go with you.”

 

“Maybe you can,” Sam interjects. Both of the others look at him in surprise and curiosity. He draws a medallion out of his shirt, a rough, flat disc inscribed with a language Dean doesn’t recognize. “Benny gave me the name of a witch, and I went to see her the last time we made land. She gave me this.”

 

He holds it out to Cas, who allows Sam to drop it into his outstretched palm. Cas studies it carefully, frowning at the inscription and turning it over in his fingers.

 

“It should help you stay aboard the ship. She said we would have to figure out how long it will last for you, since spells vary from wearer to wearer, but we could renew it ourselves and -”

 

Dean crashes into Sam then, kissing his brother hard and Sam wraps his arms around Dean when he feels a touch of wet hit his cheek. Dean swipes away the lone tear and turns to Cas.

 

“Cas. Would you - do you want to come with me? With us?”

 

There’s a long silence as Cas’ gazes moves from the medallion in his hands to the entwined men in front of him.

 

“You would let me? You would offer me this? Even knowing that your brother and I . . .” Cas is looking directly at Sam. Sam leans up to kiss Dean, smiling against his brother’s lips as Dean melts into the kiss just like he always does.

 

“I would. Because I love my brother, and I don’t doubt my brother’s love, both for me and for you.”

 

“Then yes. If you think this can work, then yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

Epilogue:

 

Cas is drooling on Dean’s chest while Sam snores on his other side. Dean wants to groan, wants to get up to relieve his protesting bladder, but his head aches and he’s not sure his body will let him move the two men sprawled practically on top of him. They’d managed to take a well-stocked vessel the day before, the shares the largest they’d gotten in awhile. The ship had ale and rum aplenty, and many of them had made good use of it last night, the three of them included.

 

Sam mumbles sleepily, shifting a little before sitting up and moaning. He scrambles out of bed to relieve himself, Dean shortly behind. Cas just grunts in irritation and drags the blanket over his head. Dean doesn’t envy the merman any; as bad as Dean knows his hangover will be, Cas’s will be far worse since he still can’t hold his alcohol. Sam’s already chugging water from the pitcher, and he passes it to Dean once he’s through, heading back to the bed to flop back down.

 

Dean drinks his fill and dresses, heading out out of the cabin. Few men are about, and Ash is lounging at the helm, nursing a hair of the dog. He offers Dean a swig that the man accepts gladly. They chat for a while, but once Dean’s sure that things are still on course, he stumbles back to his lovers.

 

Cas and Sam are tangled up together in the bed, Sam spooned around Cas’ smaller frame.It had taken them time to adjust, but Sam had an unshakeable fondness for the merman. They were as soft together as Cas and Dean could be, and it smoothed out all the hard edges that Sam and Dean had. Nevermind that Dean found it unspeakably hot when his brother pinned the merman down; Sam played rougher than Dean thought he would as a top, but Cas had turned out to be both durable and eager.

 

“Stop staring,” Sam grumbles, gesturing at Dean to get back into bed. They sandwich Cas between them, the merman swatting half-heartedly at Dean for disturbing him, but he snuggles in readily once Dean is settled.

 

There are horizons to chase, but for now they can rest.

 


End file.
